The Let Down

**Warning** This post contains multiple references to breasts and breast milk and may not be palatable to all audiences.

If you are one of the 51% of the world's population lacking breasts, or if you have never breast fed an infant, you might not understand the term "let-down." It refers to the moment when your milk flows from your milk ducts to your nipples as your child begins nursing.  Most new-parent manuals and breast feeding pamphlets will tell you that you may or may not be aware of this moment. They will tell you that you may feel a slight, warm, tingling sensation. They tell you that, aside from the times when your baby stimulates your let-down, your milk might also flow when you think about your baby, or when you hear her cry.

The joke around my house right now centers around my extremely over-active let-down reflex. In the first place, it's no "warm, tingly sensation". It's like someone is stabbing me with a thousand tiny little knives, causing me to throw one hand over each breast and walk through the house howling. Second of all, it doesn't just let down when Gil nurses, or when I think of Gil, or when Gil cries. It lets down every time I'm moved emotionally - which apparently is ALL THE TIME.

I'm a walking milk machine. I'm a wet and sloppy mess. If Chris or the girls ever longed for a glimpse into my inner-most thoughts, my private psyche, they have it now. I was watching 'The Wire' last night, the episode where McNulty cries in the hospital because he feels guilty that his fellow cop, Kima, was shot. OUCH! Here comes the milk. I was looking at real-estate online last week and my thoughts wandered to our three girls playing in their own home. YOW! I walked through the front door of my building yesterday afternoon to the aroma of a home cooked meal wafting from the first floor. DANG!

My girls got the bug two weeks ago, the evil one that is going around it seems. They threw up for 24 hours straight, leaving me to peel back layers of vomity blankets as the midnight hours ticked away. Bela threw up on Mae from the top bunk. Mae threw up on a pile of Bela's throw up. They both threw up on our vintage copy of The Hobbit, hardbound.  Aside from being scarred psychologically (me), the only lingering after-effect of this episode was that Mae developed a pretty gross cough right after, and then gave it to me.

Last night I was sitting on the couch, being moved to milk by another episode of The Wire, and I couldn't stop coughing. My loving husband looked concerned, offered to make me some tea, went to the kitchen and brewed up a batch of chamomile with a touch of honey. And wouldn't you know it? My milk squirted all over the place.

Gil in her favorite spot. Me, going on no sleep for days.